Rendezvous
by darkmouse jumu
Summary: On a sunny day, two businessmen meet in an outdoor cafe somewhere in Shinjuku. They order drinks, have a seat, and begin their discussion. Short story, revolving around the good doctor Jackal and the ultimate sort of blackmail.


**Key**

_dialogue_

-strikethrough-

**Author's Note:** This began as a venturous scribble of my imagination, hence the rambling-scrambling poetry at the beginning, regardless of the fact that it is hardly poetry. More befuddled regurgitation of previously absorbed media of all kinds, it put me in the strange mindset I was in when the actual story began. I doubt I'll ever quite be able to duplicate either the circumstances leading to or the writing style itself, so this may be the only piece of the like that you see from me. It is not necessary to read the "poetry" coughdoggerelcough included at the beginning, but as it was a crucial part of the writing process and feels, to me, a great deal a part of the story, I chose to allow it to remain as it was.

**Disclaimer:** In all its glory, horror, or triteness, this piece _does_ in fact fall under fanfiction, specifically and exclusively under _GetBackers_ fanfiction. The character(s) featured in this piece also featured in the aforementioned manga/anime are copyrighted to Yuya Aoki and Rando Ayamine, the creators, and I suppose associated, right-holding companies deserve a somewhat cheap mention too. What's left after everyone has had claim belongs to the speaking author, me.

And now, without any further, wordy ado

**Darkmouse Jumu Presents**

**_Rendezvous_**

Trade fourteen emerald green

Lackadaisy paste and pie scum

Personal savoir faire, catalogued horseshoes

Random favorings, thirty-one favors

Bend and twist, raisin daydream

Pick a whisper, settle a date

Rendezvous, RSVP, Reconaissance

We're fifty strong and Fifty Frenchmen can't be wrong… 

Pie plates, cups of chai tea

Chamomile herb and flavoring

Pivot, about face

What's your story, what's your place?

Shake off the emotions, burn the red lines

Seeking and always, hoping to find

A light in the dark, _an afterthought, a lark_

You hit the watermark 

_But the dog didn't bark_

_Say oh yeah, that's the sound of the pleas…_

_Set free all the heathens that live in the streets_

_See the promise of pain runs hand in hand_

The streets is watchin' so keep on talkin, your time is driftin down down down…

* * *

Black hat, suit and tie, wandering forth with a handful of chai. Sipping the tea he sat, quietly, lurking the streets with cat-slit eyes. _This is weird_, he thought to me, sipping his tea and turning his eyes away from the street. 

_You think too much_, did I reply, sitting across and matching in a black suit and tie. _All that's left is you and me, it's desperate, but it's not weird._

To this he had no response, casting his eyes away and picking up his tea to sip again. Under the table, I held my hands, wishing the umbrella cast a little more shade. Emerald-bobbed trees lined our street on both my left and right, evenly spaced and the closest towering behind me. Beneath the umbrella was the table, and _sur la table_, _dans la chaise_ was my companion, pale skinned, dark haired, small pupils. He'd never held the appearance of being very healthy, today especially so.

I reclasped my hands between my thighs, gruesome blackmail between my palms.

_You're not one for social situations,_ he commented amiably, sipping his tea once again.

I grinned. _I simply had a change of heart_, I shrugged, _no two ways around it._

_Indeed_. He sipped his tea. _I would suppose the same of your sunglasses, are those new?_

_Remarkably so._

_You felt it in the dawn didn't you, and simply had to go out and buy a pair._

_Do not mock me, friend, you cannot afford it._ I shifted in my seat, drawing my knees closer together. A napkin curled about his fist and covered his face, absorbing the blood that had begun to dribble from his nose.

Crystal cubes chinked and chanked as a white-gloved hand set the glass on the table. Half-liquid, half-ice, I sipped the lemonade pensively, sucking the liquid through a straw. The effect was refreshing, my doubts about the concoction ceased.

_You were right, I do enjoy this._

He stared at me, tea forgotten and cooling next to a pale hand on the table. _Why did you bring me here?_

Chugging the lemonade, I massaged my temples, willing the brainfreeze away. _I have_, I began, _two questions._

_And then?_

_I will have your answers, making four, I suppose. Shall I ask them, or will you continue to wander as you have?_

He appeared to think now, debating the strength of the proposal. Finally, he nodded. _Your questions, one at a time please._

The ice shifted in the glass, melting subtlely. _'Is this really what you want?_ I asked, shifting my hands meaningfully. He felt it, certain enough. His response was drawn, tight.

_Y…Yes._

_Then,_ I began rapidly. _Is it for you, or for me?_

_For me_, he said at length. _This is my resignation._

_You will cease to wander._

_I know. _

Screams ripped through the open, outdoor café. A man in a hat, a black suit and tie fell out of his chair, onto the sidewalk, limp as a noodle, dead as doornail. As people gathered round or shielded their children's eyes from the blood pouring onto the cement, I sat back, unnoticed. A black book I extracted from my inner blazer pocket opened obligingly in my hand, and I slid my index finger across a name written in black. -_Akabane Kurodo- _it now read. Replacing the book in my blazer pocket, I stood and let my hands rise with me, hovering now at my waist. The heart on my palms was already beginning to stink in the hot sun of Shinjuku, the blazing temperatures affecting me as well. Sighing, I looked back at the scene. A child was staring wide-eyed, not at the dead man but at me, right at me. It chilled me to the core. Gathering my belongings, the heart and my scythe, I started off down the street, waving casually to the boy and bidding him goodbye.


End file.
